I slept. Well. Didn’t wake up half a dozen times to check the clock; that’s always a good night’s sleep. Never understand how after a heavy, full sleep like last night I often feel more tired in the morning. It seems to take twice a long for me to fully wake up. Seems opposite to what it should be.
Still no call from Heike. I didn’t even have to turn off my phone. Oh, so glad to have therapists who care (yeah, that’s sarcasm). Not that I expected that much out of her. After everything she’s blown off, from our scheduled appointments to getting me some info via email, I’m hardly surprised. She’s a piss poor therapist. Since it’s Friday, I don’t expect a call today. And there won’t be one on Monday, either – that’s just the way things work here. So I have my window of opportunity to close this episode in my life via letter, and I’m gonna take it. If she calls after that, that’s her business. I’ll have said what I need to say.
I did NOT smoke more marijuana yesterday. Wanted to. Of course I wanted to. I like the flavor. But I didn’t. I kept to regular ciggies. Awful stuff. Hate the taste, hate that I’m smoking straight tobacco. Gives my hands and mouth something to do when I need it, tho. I’d like to shove it all in the doctor’s faces – the anger, the depression, the suicidal thoughts, the return after thirty years to smoking cigarettes. I won’t. I’ll own it. And then if they judge me, I know they’re the wrong people for me to talk to.
That sounds like a balanced approach.
Talked more with my brother. He’s happy I’m no longer forcing smiles and laughter; it’s easy to tell the difference between a genuine laugh and a forced one with me. We talked about money again. That’s always an anxious point for me. After living in Ireland for 14 years, I’m used to life costing more each month than what we have (if you didn’t know, Ireland is the most expensive EU country to live in). That’s not what’s happening here. We’ve got more money than our monthly bills, and the debts we mounted up are being eroded away. Soon we’ll be ahead. We talked about starting up a savings account (gasp! a real savings account!), short holidays, and new equipment for the studio. It will be weird to feel flush with cash. It’s weird to have money given to me each month and NOT feel guilty when I buy a deep conditioner for my hair or something else I feel is a bit extravagant or just for me. I guess 14 years of barely surviving means I’m just less likely to toss money around willy-nilly when I feel good.
Still in my Downton Abbey run. Still living there, with my friends the Crawleys. Silly, right? Don’t care. It’s working. I may begin the series again when I’m thru it just to stay in this head space. It’s great to watch characters who DON’T have inappropriate responses. Everyone in that show has problems; that’s what makes it what it is. But they don’t scream at each other. They don’t do the things you see so often these days in shows; they don’t exhibit overt mental illness. They talk to each other. Get thru it. Support each other, in that turn of the century upper crust British manner. It helps to have role models that do that rather than go ballistic, however funny the ballistic responses may be.
Today I’d like to get out of the house. Do something fun with my brother. Maybe go out for a meal, or head to the music shop to drool over equipment. Something we’d both enjoy. He suggested some of that a few days ago, but I wasn’t ready to leave my cocoon yet. Today I think I can.
With my better feelings towards myself returning, my mind goes out to my friends. Have a few messages in my email right now that I’m answering. Have a few people who haven’t responded yet, so I’m sending out mini messages telling them I know silence isn’t a good thing and talk to me, talk to me, talk to me. When I’m depressed I don’t want to spread my depression around. When I feel good, however, I want to siphon it off and ship it to everyone who’s down. Fix all their problems. Make people smile again. Lift some of the burden off their shoulders. ‘Cause I know what that down side feels like. It may not be my baseline, but I’ve felt the sting of it. I know how dangerous it is, and how lonely it feels. If a few words from me everyday can help in any manner – even if all my notes to them just make them feel guilty enough to start to reply, I’ll do it. Nothing is worse than retreating from the world when you’re down. You get no support. No opportunity of support. I know why we don’t reach out: it’s too scary to think about talking about that stuff and then getting blown off. And you think ‘what difference will it make if I talk about it?’. It’s not going to change the facts of your life – whether you’re struggling with your mind or money issues, talk doesn’t seem to make a hill of beans of difference. I’m not becoming an advocate of talk therapy. Not at all. I’m saying talk to your friends. Put it in your blog. Give us a chance to support you, because a lot of us want to help. Give us a chance to be kind to you, because we don’t judge you or think you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. I’m sure not going to tell anyone to snap out of it, or that they’re wallowing in self pity. Not at all. I may not always have the right words to say. Sometimes I might just write *hugs* in the comments. That means I’m thinking of you, that my heart is breaking a bit because I know you’re hurting, and I want so very much to help you.
Let me give a little back.